Wednesday, May 6, 2015

A Mother's Day Tribute


Sunday, May 10, is Mother’s Day, and in memory of a mother who was often at the center of 828 activity, I am sharing a column I wrote for a local newspaper in 2008, the year Mom died. At the time I was writing a biweekly column for the paper near where I live—Mars, Pennsylvania, about 45 minutes north of Pittsburgh. It was published on Mother’s Day.

A Final Mother’s Day Tribute
For me, the moment of my mother’s death was an epiphany, an intuitive leap of understanding achieved at a time when I thought I’d feel only sadness and loss.

During the five years of watching Mother’s slow steady decline following a stroke, I thought often of what it would be like when she was gone—the emotional intensity of losing the one who gave me life, the sadness at no longer being able to sit in her presence, and the relief in knowing that her earthbound struggles were finally over. Mother died in February at the age of 87; today marks the first celebration of Mother’s Day without her.

By all outward appearances, Mother led a common, unremarkable life. She grew up the oldest of eight children in a not-so-prosperous farm family in western Ohio. She graduated from high school and took a job as a typesetter at a small printing company, earning 10 cents an hour. She married my father—a factory worker-turned baker who left school after the eighth grade—and together they raised a large family. She was widowed unexpectedly at age 60, traveled a bit following my father’s death, remarried at age 75, and died a dozen years later.
 
But the ordinary circumstances of her life belie her true nature, for Mother was an extraordinary woman whose greatness lie in her ability to push beyond her circumstances and to appreciate each day for what it was, and to pass along that appreciation to those around her.

It was through Mother that I came to understand the preciousness of everyday life: As a child, she knelt with me in prayer. Standing beside me at the kitchen stove, she shared her love of cooking. Doing homework under her watchful eye, I came to know the joy of learning. Preserving vegetables from the family garden, I learned frugality and to work hard. And resting on the front porch at the end of a day, I discovered the pleasures of being with family on a warm summer evening.

But it was in death that she shared her greatest gift, for in dying she showed me how to live. A lifelong learner, Mother drew lessons from her own life, and she shared them with her family. She told us of how being with my father when he died had taken away her fear of death: “His death was so peaceful and serene,” she wrote in a final letter to her children, opened on the occasion of her own death. “When I think about dying, I am at peace.… The greatest gift I can wish for you is a happy death.”

Lying on her deathbed at the nursing home, she wavered for two days between life and death, as her children and grandchildren came to say good-bye. Labored breathing marked her presence in the room, and as each of us took turns sitting by her side, she willed herself back towards life, mouthing a dry kiss or stirring slightly as we squeezed her hand.As she lay dying, her brow furrowed. Was she being beckoned from afar? Was her distant gaze fixed on a life beyond our knowing?

Finally, in the hour before sunrise, she left us, seemingly eager to embrace whatever lie ahead. The ultimate teacher, Mother showed me how to live a good life; in dying, she shared another lesson—possibly the most important—in life’s long journey. 

To all women who nurture and care for others, have a blessed and happy Mother’s Day.

Stories about our mother will undoubtedly make their way into other of our writings, for Mom was very involved and highly influential in her children’s lives. Most posts I am sure will recognize her remarkable work as a mother, but others may take exception to the heavy hand with which she guided us. Today, though, I celebrate the goodness of the woman who first nourished my brothers, sister and me. Seven years gone, and I still miss her physical presence in my life.

—Linda

1 comment:

  1. I love the photo, and much of what you wrote made me think of the two of us. (except you still need to teach me how to can!) xoxo mama

    ReplyDelete